


A Troubled Songbird

by LittleKnownArtist



Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: Alastor Being a Jerk (Hazbin Hotel), Alastor is Bad at Feelings (Hazbin Hotel), Alastor is in Hell for a Reason (Hazbin Hotel), Alternate Universe - 1920s, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Mob, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Asexual Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Cannibalism, F/M, Human Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Minor Angel Dust/Husk (Hazbin Hotel), Minor Character Death, Murder for Hire, No Smut, Only tension, Period-Typical Racism, Period-Typical Sexism, Protective Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Romance, Sexual Tension, Singer Charlie, Torture, Yandere Alastor (Hazbin Hotel)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-04
Updated: 2020-02-04
Packaged: 2021-02-19 08:54:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22541785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleKnownArtist/pseuds/LittleKnownArtist
Summary: Mafia!AU - 1920s!AU - Human!AUBeing rewritten!
Relationships: Alastor/Charlie Magne
Comments: 20
Kudos: 396





	A Troubled Songbird

**Author's Note:**

> Was discussing Mob!AU ideas with another member on discord. Just kinda throwing ideas around but they gave me the go ahead to write my own version of a Mob!AU with Charlastor.

Shadow unlocked the door with ease, slipping under the thin crack just at the bottom. Alastor Leroux strolled silently to where Rolland Parker slept fitfully. He kept his ears pricked to the sounds of the _goons_ guarding the the place. Ten seconds later, a pistol with a home-made silencer and Mr. Parker was _sleeping a little deeper_ now. A pistol wasn't usually Alastor's method of _bumping off_ those who deserved it, but this wasn't for sport. This wasn't even his gun. These weren't even his shoes. They belonged to fellow _trouble boy_ Frankie Lafayette from the opposing gang, the man Alastor had been explicitly hired to frame.

He made the slightest shoe impression in the blood with Frankie's shoe, and made his way out. Shadow shrouded his body in darkness and Alastor made his way to return the items he'd _borrowed_. He'd settled into bed not long after, and slept those few hours, dreaming of good food. Even the Big Shot, Lucifer DeVille didn't like to be woken unspeakably early. Come morning while his coffee was brewing, he placed the call and what's done is done.

"Good job, my boy! Nobody saw you in or out?" Al resisted the urge to scoff.

"Does anyone ever?" Shadow was a surefire way to shield his presence, and these jobs as a _dropper_ didn't even begin to scratch the surface of his recreational activities. He made himself a sandwich for his lunch with the leftovers from his dinner. Mr. Fitzgerald was his name, wasn't it? He was a little stringy, but Alastor had worse meals.

"Well, Lu, if you need anything more out of me, I'll try to keep my schedule open," Alastor chirped. He had no loyalties to anyone, and least of all the DeVille patriarch. Lucifer was well aware of this. They discussed it many a time.

"There may be one more thing..." The voice on the other end of the line almost sounded hesitant. Alastor tilted his head, curious about what had the man's voice sounding so strained. As far as he knew, Lucifer DeVille was an unflappable sort of man. He owned much of the North, and was making his way South, inspiring gang wars to watch the southern rivals take each other out before he would take up the territory for himself. This was certainly odd for Alastor. Odd and very intriguing.

"Yes?"

"There's been a string of little fillies getting left out on the highway entering into Louisiana as of late. Blonde, fair, early 20's," Lucifer started.

"Oh yes, I remember those very well!" Alastor chuckled very slightly. He remembered the faces of the distraught families upon finding out their missing girls were cut up and sleeping deep along the ditch. It was so funny, seeing their scrunched up faces printed in the papers. 

"That's not your work, is it?" Alastor couldn't help the bark of laughter that boomed from his chest at the accusation.

"I should say not!" Alastor said after a moment to compose himself. "All those dollies had been _sullied_. You know well I'm not interested in such vulgar behavior. I have standards."

"Had they now?"

"Yes indeedee. I reported on those very crimes. I mean you no disrespect, but I do feel a bit put-out that you would even suspect me." His tone was jovial, relaying no offence. No offense was heard in Lucifer's tone, as he relayed a message for Alastor. Keep an ear and both eyes out for whoever might be blipping off the girls. Lucifer didn't give him much more information than that, but Alastor had a sneaking suspicion...

It had been about two years since the Don's very own daughter had stopped making a presence in talks underground. As if it were something no one wished to talk about. Could his daughter be a blonde and fair little thing, as well? He’d never seen her, nor cared to listen to talks about her, even before the unspoken gag order on the mob heiress. He'd just assumed she'd met the _big sleep_ or been disowned.

Interesting...

* * *

**One Month Earlier**

“Mrs. Gardner, I really don’t mind! Besides, I’ve bought too much bread again. I have to keep a slim figure with that second job of mine!”

“Oh Charlotte, you’re really too kind for your own good,” said Mrs. Gardner, staring up at the pretty young lady who always brought her breads and cheese for herself and her children. With her husband gone, it was only Mrs. Gardner’s wages as a typist to provide for the family until her eldest came of age to work. Charlotte just shook her head.

“It’s alright. Please, call me Charlie, I much prefer the nickname.” Mrs. Garner nodded graciously, agreeing to use the nickname in the future, but only if Charlie would call her Anna. Charlie worked beside the woman as a typist for over a year, but had never really gotten close to her until the news of her husband’s death had wreaked poor Anna. She had sat with the woman and let her cry on her shoulder after the police left their small office to inform her that her husband had been a bystander casualty in mob violence. She’d been a shy and quiet woman, but having someone to open up to during her darkest times had brought a friendliness out of her Charlie enjoyed.

Charlie grabbed her friend and other old coworker, Vaggie from their building made her way back to the musty old ~~bar~~ resturant to collect the rest of her things. Vaggie was the one who had recommended the building to her for the compromise between security, independence, and affordability. She could have chosen an all-women boarding house, but the rules were just too strict. The building Charlie now lived in with Vaggie was for either sex, but it was mainly women at this point.

Ed Husk stood there rubbing his aching back when they’d arrived. He’d gone and finished wrapping and boxing the rest of her belongings for her. Exactly what she’d told the older, bushy-browed man not to do.

“Oh! Husk! I told you that you didn’t need to help me with all that, not with the condition your back is in.” She trotted over to him to push him into a chair to sit down. He grunted.

“”m not crippled, girly. I can get a few things in boxes, it ain’t no beef for me.” How he was rubbing his back said otherwise. Charlie sighed, Vaggie bringing him his bottle from where he had set it down. He immediately took a chug of it before surveying the room. Charlie and Vaggie gathered the last of the boxes onto a cart to tow over to her new flat. Charlie heard Husk sigh, rubbing his face.

“You’re really leavin’, huh kid?” Charlie bit her lip. There was a silence that spread between the old man and Charlie. He’d put her up for the past two years after she fled the mob life. He was an old mutual friend of her father’s, but other than that, quite possibly the last person he might suspect her to run to. At first Husk hadn’t wanted anything to do with the girl, but offered her a single night before moving on. He knew of the mobs, had acquaintances in them, but didn’t want to associate with the mobs directly. Putting up the Don’s runaway daughter was probably an easy way to draw attention. But the girl, Charlie, well…she had this way about her. She was stubborn and fiery but she was also like a brilliant ray of sunshine to the old man. She struck a chord with him through some of her mannerisms. She was so like his daughter had been, before an accident had taken her away from him, and his life began to fall to pieces. He really cared about Charlie, although it was difficult to admit it.

Charlie knew, though. He didn’t have to say it. He was grouchy and foul-mouthed, but he was soft on her, like her father had been when she was much younger. He even let her sing and play piano to entertain his customers, which she adored. Everyone loved her voice. Her voice was her greatest talent, and it had landed her the second job she had now.

“I’ll miss you,” she said, scooping the thin old man into a hug.

“Ah! C’mon kid, don’t get all mushy on me. I don’t need this.” When she just squeezed tighter, he sighed and reluctantly wrapped a hand around the girl’s back, not caring any more that Vaggie was watching the old man return the affection.

“Sorry about all this, girly,” he mumbled into her shoulder.

“It’s not your fault.” He only grunted in reply. It really wasn’t his fault, but Charlie knew Husk still felt somewhat responsible for his patron’s actions. Yet another man had followed Charlie upstairs and forced his way into her room. This made four. It was the reason she kept the Louisville Slugger within arm’s reach. She’d always managed to _dry-gulch_ the men, but who’s to say she’d be so lucky the next time? She had to move somewhere with more security. Somewhere close to her nighttime singing job. She thanked Husk for every opportunity he had given her, but the room over the ~~bar~~ restaurant just wasn’t safe for a pretty young blonde to be seen walking into.

“Come see me sing, or visit when you can,” she told him before making her way back to her new, safer flat.

She collapsed on her bed the minute she got inside and Vaggie helped her get the bed made up before returning to her own apartment. She’d made sure all of her security locks were set before setting her alarm for tonight. She’d spent the day getting her things moved, but she still had to sing tonight, so she needed to rest up.

* * *

**At Present**

“There’s an awful lot of people here tonight,” Charlie observed, wringing a hankerchief in her hands. She’d never sang in front of so many people before.

“Don’t mind it,” Miss Abernathy told her, a hand on Charlie’s back, “one of the places downtown is closed ‘cause of repairs, so summa the crowd just wandered up this way. Don’t think about it. You always sing beautifully. I can see you singing for the masses someday. Maybe even makin’ it onto the radio!” She patted Charlie’s back, earning a bright smile from the girl. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath and settled herself, waiting for her cue.

“And here we have Miss Charlie Magne on vocals ready to perform tonight,” the pianist introduced, along with the rest of the musicians. Charlie looked out over the crowd, spotting a few regulars amongst a sea of new faces. The place that was closed was obviously more popular than her place if work if they’d all arrived from there. She didn’t know every regular face, but she could tell the newcomers from the rest, looking on rather boredly, or not even glancing up from their conversations. Those who had heard her sing wore smiles, and she even noticed one redheaded girl in the dancefloor giddily directing her beau’s attention to the stage, from what Charlie could tell past the lights. That bubbly little readhead, looking no more than 18 and so ecstatic to see the band play and Charlie sing forced her confidence up from where it was hidden under her nerves.

And so she sang her heart out.

She usually sang well, but her mood did impact her voice, but tonight, she thought of all the good things which had brought her to where she was. In two years, she had fled the violence, booze, gun smoke, and bloodshed of her family’s unwholesome dealings. Or rather, her father’s. She was the Don’s daughter, his only child, and had always been tucked firmly beneath his thumb. She had even, at one point, been engaged to the son of her father’s friend. Up until he’d made one too many remarks about—well!—whatever it was, and she’d spat in his face. Her father found amusement in her unladylike behavior and that was about the only good thing around the situation.

She ran across the country, landing herself in the southern center of good music and food, fanciful dress and parties, rich with a wonderful culture Charlie had only either read about or heard about from his trips down through the south. Warm weather and birdsong year round. Street musicians and parades, and good food wherever she went. Even the cicadas sang in the summers. She had gone through a typing class, landed herself a job—boring, but consistent—and got herself the position she’d always wanted. Singing. Standing on a stage, even in this small-scale restaurant and dance hall, it was her dream. She could afford an apartment, and even begin to save up to move onto property out west, somewhere her father didn’t have a chance of finding her.

She was making it, and that excited her. So she sang as sweetly as a bluebird, full of hope and happiness. The crowd noticed, their eyes alight. Even the newcomers were enthralled by the music. It was silly to think it was only her voice, there was the rest of the band to consider, but there was just something special about the way some of their eyes were on her. It made her feel a little embarrassed, but her happiness overruled that emotion.

As the band wound down for the night hand the patrons began to leave, Charlie still felt her chest bubbling with enthusiasm. The band began to pack up, and Charlie got a glass of water. The band members congratulated her on her singing. It turns out that everyone had noticed the emotion in her voice tonight. She blushed with their compliments, sipping her water and waving to them as they all went home to their families.

As Charlie sat beside Miss Abernathy, from the corner of her eye she noticed a tall man had cautiously been approaching them. Miss Abernathy lifted her head when she noticed him, and Charlie turned her gaze more towards him. He was dressed smartly, a light jacket and vest over a white shirt, his hat held in one hand. Brown hair, and behind the _cheaters_ he wore were brown eyes of about the same shade. Except for his warm tan skin, he was exceedingly ordinary in appearance, and yet, he wore a soft smile that lit his eyes and accentuated his cheekbones. He was sort of handsome, Charlie thought.

“Hello, sir, do you need anything?” Charlie asked.

“I don’t suppose I need anything, my dear, I just wanted to say that your singing tonight was marvelous.”

Charlie blushed, especially when Miss Abernathy turned to her, a wide grin on her face which only the singer could see. This man wasn’t the first who had complemented Charlie, but it was taking some getting used to now that she was singing in public much more often.

“O-oh, thank you.” Charlie's finger wrapped around of blonde curl of her stylish bob.

“I’ve not been to this fine establishment before, so I wonder, do you sing a different set of songs each night, miss…” he trailed off, his smile slipping slightly, looking thoughtful.

“Magne,” Miss Abernathy offered, “this is our star, miss Charlie Magne.” She wrapped an arm around Charlie, and the singer couldn’t help but laugh.

“Stop that, I haven’t been working here very long at all, you can hardly call me a star!”

The man chuckled at the display between the women. Something about that laugh seemed…familiar to her? Like she had heard it before, but she couldn’t place it. Did she know this man from somewhere? Charlie shook her head.

“But yes. Sometimes I will cover a song I like several times, but there’s usually a new lineup each night.”

“You must know your music well, to have memorized all those different songs.”

Charlie began to explain and Miss Abernathy grinned at the her. She excused herself, not going too far away. Enough to still overhear them, but also enough to give them privacy. Charlie wanted to scream. She saw exactly what she was doing. A lot of people tried to do it to her. She was in her 20s now, and she should be going on dates, and seriously considering men for partners. Her life had only just begun to settle down, she needed a break before she dove into that!

Maybe this tall stranger didn’t even wish to talk with her in the hopes of getting a date. She couldn’t be so expectant, just because a young man came to talk to her! He could be married. She glanced to his left hand. No ring. Well, he could still be _dizzy with a dame_ of his own, despite what Miss Abernathy seemed to think, given her mischievous glances between Charlie and the stranger. The man seemed pleasant enough, she supposed she could entertain the conversation notwithstanding of his intentions. He knew a surprising bit about music. Actually, he knew more than a bit, he discussed lyric and tempo and melody with her. Living in New Orleans, many people had their casual knowledge of jazz, but this bespectacled fellow knew a great deal more than what could be considered casual. She was actually having fun discussing music preferences with him.

“My!” Charlie laughed, when he mentioned how he’d like to hear her sing more often, and she shifted the topic, “do you work with musicians? Are you a musician?”

He laughed heartily at that. Charlie was absolutely certain she had heard that laugh before. She just knew she had. But from where? From where?

“Yes and no.” He grinned cheekily at her. He looked up at the hanging clock.

“You’ll be closing soon. Charlie, my dear, may I ask to hear one more song?” He looked back at Miss Abernathy, eavesdropping casually, “Would that be alright?”

“Oh, definitely!” Miss Abernathy answered for her. Charlie blinked, unsure.

“But the band has gone home,” Charlie noted.

“You can play piano, then,” Miss Abernathy said, as if it were decided. The man turned back around, his smile softened a bit.

“Only if you would like, sweetheart.” Charlie felt her rosy cheeks become hotter. She was certain her flush was showing through her powder by that point as she peered over her water glass at the man. With one wonderfully dark eyebrow arched, a crooked smile framing straight teeth, eyes softened, and the overhead lights casting more warmth on his tan skin, he really was handsome, Charlie realized. She swallowed her gulp of water down a little harder than was necessary and nodded her head. Sure. She could play this man one song. There were still others sitting around the establishment, it wouldn’t be just for him.

As she sat down at the piano, she ran through the various songs in her head which could be played only with piano accompaniment, and couldn’t think of a single one that wasn’t about love. Why was love and romance such a popular topic in music! She didn’t want this man to get the wrong idea, it was just a song cover. Although, a part of her didn’t mind if he did have a certain sort of ideas.

She chose a more mellow song, and began to play. At least she could stare at her hands as the traversed the keys, rather than the man sitting just off the stage. When she did look up, she sighed internally, as he was closing his eyes in enjoyment, rather than staring at her. She felt a little more comfortable than she had before, and so she sang tonight’s last song.

As she finished, there was a smattering of applause from the few late night customers. The tall, handsome stranger was standing up to clap. She laughed as she looked at him.

“That was gorgeous, Miss Charlie, absolutely wonderful.”

“Again,” she said, stepping down from the stage, “thank you…Mr?” She tilted her head.

“Alastor Leroux.”

Huh. That name was really familiar. She was sure she heard it before. Combined with the way he laughed, it almost sounded like…

“Alastor Leroux?” Her eyes were wide, her mouth dropped open slightly. “The radio host?!”

“That’s certainly my profession. Weekday mornings and Friday Night Horror Theatre.” He nodded. Charlie looked at Miss Abernathy, who wasn’t looking her direction for once. She was over talking to her fiancé, the manager.

“Oh, dear,” she held her cheeks, “that certainly explains why you know your music.”

“Certainly. It also explains why I can recognize a one-of-a-kind voice,” he smirked, “and my oh my, a lovely face and charming personality to go along with it. A proper southern belle, if I do say so myself.” Charlie was born in the north, but she was too flattered to correct him. He nodded and set his fedora back upon his head.

“Have a good night, my dear.” Then he just left. Like that. Charlie trotted over to where Miss Abernathy was still talking with the manager. She waited for a moment to speak before blurting her thoughts right out.

“That was Alastor Leroux!” Miss Abernathy blinked.

“I just got asked to sing for a radio host. Goodness.”

“The horror theatre _bird_?” She asked, touching her knuckle to her chin, “I thought it was a way of keeping a new customer, but maybe…”

Charlie let out a breath. The minor shock of the situation had mostly fled her system, and she had come back down to earth. Of course Miss Abernathy would consider this a business investment, having gents take a liking to her singer.

She really should have gone home with the band, not stayed the extra time that she had. Her flat was only a short walk from her work, but she was too giddy to keep watch of her surroundings. Back when she was young, she was more carefree, she never worried about her surroundings. Rousseau and Dashiell had been introduced to her when she was nine, for the strict purposes of protecting her. They had been just boys, but they were fiercely watchful of her, since their own parents had been bumped off before they came to the DeVille house. Charlie sort of missed them, who she dubbed Razzle and Dazzle because she hadn’t been able to pronounce their names at that young age. Before she learned what her father really did, she never had a care in the world. Because the boys were protecting her. Now she didn’t have anyone to protect her. She had to watch her own back.

Her ears pricked up at a certain sound, and she whipped her head around. She stared down the street, finding no one about on a Saturday night. Her eyes scanned the darkness, squinting suspiciously into the crossroads. She faced back forward and began walking again. She found her lipstick _shiv_ in her pocket, wrapping her fingertips around it. She’d much prefer to beat a man with her Louisville Slugger than use it, but if the bat wasn’t an option, she still wouldn’t go down easy. 

To date, Charlie had never _croaked_ anyone. She nearly scoffed at the thought, sounding so casual as if ordinary people just killed one another. Where she grew up, that was an actual show of restraint. It would be harder to avoid _knocking off_ someone with a _shiv_ as opposed to a bat. She’d come to understand that she’d need more _mettle_ if she wanted to survive on her own. She was too scared of hurting others that she put her own safety at risk. Those men who shoved their way into her room probably wouldn’t have gotten that far if she’d just grow some _cojones_ , as Vaggie would say, and stick a tack in them. It was just self-defense.

She didn’t hear another sound besides the click of her heels along the pavement. She took to watching for shadows, or any sort of movement out of the corner of her eye. She couldn’t hear or see anyone, but she had this feeling deep in her gut that she was being followed. She felt eyes on her. Not like the eyes she felt when she sang, no, definitely not that. The eyes of someone who knew she was all alone in the world. Without any other people around or anyone to protect her. Without her elderly friend Husk to hear her scream. Without Razzle and Dazzle to tuck behind.

Her heart was hammering in her chest, even as she made it back to the front entry of her building. She sighed with relief at seeing someone else down below, a woman. Vaggie. She lived on the floor below Charlie’s. She let herself in and trotted up to her friend, who looked up, looked outside, and understood completely without a word spoken between the pair. Charlie wondered what her face must look like for the Vaggie to have understood so completely. Vaggie yanked out her mail and set a hand on Charlie’s back, walking up the stairs with her while glaring over her shoulder. Vaggie was hardly five feet tall, but she seemed to be all the fiercer for it. Maybe she did have someone willing to protect her after all, but with the shorter girl knowing nothing of her past, she would never put that all on her new friend.

“You okay, Charlie?” She asked in a whisper. Charlie nodded.

“I think I was just being a little paranoid is all,” she mumbled in return. Vaggie sighed.

“I don’t blame you. If I’d have been there when those nasty _cobrones_ tried—well, _perderian sus pollas_.” Charlie laughed at the joke. Vaggie didn’t laugh. Vaggie was serious. Charlie didn’t speak much Spanish, but she knew whatever her Hispanic friend had said couldn’t be good.

Vaggie insisted on walking Charlie up to her door first. Charlie waved goodbye and goodnight before tucking into her nighttime routine. It was her day off tomorrow, and she could sleep in reasonably late the next morning. She needed to calm herself down some from her paranoia so she decided to read. She tucked herself in and picked up some romance novel she’d started into and read until her eyes could hardly see anymore. It was barely eleven when she’d checked her clock. She was more tired than she had guessed. ‘ _So much for staying up’_ , she thought as she clicked off her light and drifted off to sleep.

She wasn’t asleep long.

Something had woken her. She awoke slowly, confused. She didn’t normally wake up in the night unless she was having a nightmare. She didn’t remember a nightmare.

But then she felt it.

The same feeling she’d had on the walk home. Eyes. Eyes were on her. Watching her. Staring at her as she slept. That was. That was just more of her unreasonable paranoia, wasn’t it? She cracked her eyes open the slightest bit in order to calm her fears, the way her bed was positioned in her tiny room allowed her to see all of it in front of her from where she lay on her side. She’d open her eyes and see that nothing was there, and she’d scold herself for being so paranoid.

But that’s not what she saw.

There was a figure in her room. A black silhouette. Oh, _god_. Broad shoulders, short hair, and _very_ tall. It was a man’s shape. A man much larger than herself. Charlie couldn’t see a single detail of him, but his outline was there in her room, staring at her. Watching her sleep. She felt his eyes all over her. Her heart thrummed in her chest, sending blood rushing through her ears with her sudden and absolute panic. She tried to keep her breathing even. She closed her eyes, hoping he hadn’t seen them open in her panic. Under the covers, she snuck her hand down beside her bed and the wall. Slowly, steadily, her hand slid. She gripped firmly onto the handle of her slugger.

In the next moment, she threw her covers back, tugged on her lamp’s cord and sprung out of bed with the bat raised high. As light filled the room, Charlie’s racing heart and white-knuckled grip of the bat was met with emptiness. There was no man in her room. Her head darted back and forth, scanning the room. There was most definitely the silhouette of a tall man in her room. She could swear. Yet, as she scanned along, she noticed that her dark grey coat had been carelessly hung over the corner of her wardrobe. It hung about as high as she swore she saw the menacing _mac_ standing. Was her mind just playing tricks on her in the darkness of her new surroundings? Playing with her previous paranoia and making _macs_ out of harmless shapes in the dark?

She tiptoed out to her main room. The bars were still secured onto her windows. She sighed as she made her way over to her door. All of the locks on it were still secured on the solid oak door. Nothing shy of a fireman’s tools were getting in that thing with the locks tightened down. She leaned her back against her door, rubbing her hand down her face. She trailed back to her room to crawl back into bed.

She never saw nor heard the shadow on her front door or clicks of the locks reengaging in the moment before she emerged into the living room. The shadow slipped back under and out her door before she exited her bedroom.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are good nourishment for writers.
> 
> Update schedule? What's that?
> 
> I'm also @dae_danie on twitter for art.


End file.
